Percy Shelley: Poems

The Cenci: Act 5

SCENE 5.1:




Do evil deeds thus quickly come to end?

O, that the vain remorse which must chastise

Crimes done, had but as loud a voice to warn

As its keen sting is mortal to avenge!

O, that the hour when present had cast off _5

The mantle of its mystery, and shown

The ghastly form with which it now returns

When its scared game is roused, cheering the hounds

Of conscience to their prey! Alas! Alas!

It was a wicked thought, a piteous deed, _10

To kill an old and hoary-headed father.


It has turned out unluckily, in truth.


To violate the sacred doors of sleep;

To cheat kind Nature of the placid death

Which she prepares for overwearied age; _15

To drag from Heaven an unrepentant soul

Which might have quenched in reconciling prayers

A life of burning crimes...


You cannot say

I urged you to the deed.


O, had I never

Found in thy smooth and ready countenance _20

The mirror of my darkest thoughts; hadst thou

Never with hints and questions made me look

Upon the monster of my thought, until

It grew familiar to desire...


'Tis thus

Men cast the blame of their unprosperous acts _25

Upon the abettors of their own resolve;

Or anything but their weak, guilty selves.

And yet, confess the truth, it is the peril

In which you stand that gives you this pale sickness

Of penitence; confess 'tis fear disguised _30

From its own shame that takes the mantle now

Of thin remorse. What if we yet were safe?


How can that be? Already Beatrice,

Lucretia and the murderer are in prison.

I doubt not officers are, whilst we speak, _35

Sent to arrest us.


I have all prepared

For instant flight. We can escape even now,

So we take fleet occasion by the hair.


Rather expire in tortures, as I may.

What! will you cast by self-accusing flight _40

Assured conviction upon Beatrice?

She, who alone in this unnatural work,

Stands like God's angel ministered upon

By fiends; avenging such a nameless wrong

As turns black parricide to piety; _45

Whilst we for basest ends...I fear, Orsino,

While I consider all your words and looks,

Comparing them with your proposal now,

That you must be a villain. For what end

Could you engage in such a perilous crime, _50

Training me on with hints, and signs, and smiles,

Even to this gulf? Thou art no liar? No,

Thou art a lie! Traitor and murderer!

Coward and slave! But no, defend thyself;


Let the sword speak what the indignant tongue _55

Disdains to brand thee with.


Put up your weapon.

Is it the desperation of your fear

Makes you thus rash and sudden with a friend,

Now ruined for your sake? If honest anger

Have moved you, know, that what I just proposed _60

Was but to try you. As for me, I think,

Thankless affection led me to this point,

From which, if my firm temper could repent,

I cannot now recede. Even whilst we speak

The ministers of justice wait below: _65

They grant me these brief moments. Now if you

Have any word of melancholy comfort

To speak to your pale wife, 'twere best to pass

Out at the postern, and avoid them so.


_58 a friend edition 1821; your friend edition 1839.


O, generous friend! How canst thou pardon me? _70

Would that my life could purchase thine!


That wish

Now comes a day too late. Haste; fare thee well!

Hear'st thou not steps along the corridor?


I'm sorry for it; but the guards are waiting

At his own gate, and such was my contrivance _75

That I might rid me both of him and them.

I thought to act a solemn comedy

Upon the painted scene of this new world,

And to attain my own peculiar ends

By some such plot of mingled good and ill _80

As others weave; but there arose a Power

Which grasped and snapped the threads of my device

And turned it to a net of ruin...Ha!


Is that my name I hear proclaimed abroad?

But I will pass, wrapped in a vile disguise; _85

Rags on my back, and a false innocence

Upon my face, through the misdeeming crowd

Which judges by what seems. 'Tis easy then

For a new name and for a country new,

And a new life, fashioned on old desires, _90

To change the honours of abandoned Rome.

And these must be the masks of that within,

Which must remain unaltered...Oh, I fear

That what is past will never let me rest!

Why, when none else is conscious, but myself, _95

Of my misdeeds, should my own heart's contempt

Trouble me? Have I not the power to fly

My own reproaches? Shall I be the slave

Of...what? A word? which those of this false world

Employ against each other, not themselves; _100

As men wear daggers not for self-offence.

But if I am mistaken, where shall I

Find the disguise to hide me from myself,

As now I skulk from every other eye?


SCENE 5.2:





Accused, do you persist in your denial?

I ask you, are you innocent, or guilty?

I demand who were the participators

In your offence? Speak truth, and the whole truth.


My God! I did not kill him; I know nothing; _5

Olimpio sold the robe to me from which

You would infer my guilt.


Away with him!


Dare you, with lips yet white from the rack's kiss

Speak false? Is it so soft a questioner,

That you would bandy lover's talk with it _10

Till it wind out your life and soul? Away!


Spare me! O, spare! I will confess.


Then speak.


I strangled him in his sleep.


Who urged you to it?


His own son Giacomo, and the young prelate

Orsino sent me to Petrella; there _15

The ladies Beatrice and Lucretia

Tempted me with a thousand crowns, and I

And my companion forthwith murdered him.

Now let me die.


This sounds as bad as truth. Guards, there,

Lead forth the prisoner!


Look upon this man; _20

When did you see him last?


We never saw him.


You know me too well, Lady Beatrice.


I know thee! How? where? when?


You know 'twas I

Whom you did urge with menaces and bribes

To kill your father. When the thing was done _25

You clothed me in a robe of woven gold

And bade me thrive: how I have thriven, you see.

You, my Lord Giacomo, Lady Lucretia,

You know that what I speak is true.



Oh, dart

The terrible resentment of those eyes _30

On the dead earth! Turn them away from me!

They wound: 'twas torture forced the truth. My Lords,

Having said this let me be led to death.


Poor wretch, I pity thee: yet stay awhile.


Guards, lead him not away.


Cardinal Camillo, _35

You have a good repute for gentleness

And wisdom: can it be that you sit here

To countenance a wicked farce like this?

When some obscure and trembling slave is dragged

From sufferings which might shake the sternest heart _40

And bade to answer, not as he believes,

But as those may suspect or do desire

Whose questions thence suggest their own reply:

And that in peril of such hideous torments

As merciful God spares even the damned. Speak now _45

The thing you surely know, which is that you,

If your fine frame were stretched upon that wheel,

And you were told: 'Confess that you did poison

Your little nephew; that fair blue-eyed child

Who was the lodestar of your life:'--and though _50

All see, since his most swift and piteous death,

That day and night, and heaven and earth, and time,

And all the things hoped for or done therein

Are changed to you, through your exceeding grief,

Yet you would say, 'I confess anything:' _55

And beg from your tormentors, like that slave,

The refuge of dishonourable death.

I pray thee, Cardinal, that thou assert

My innocence.


What shall we think, my Lords?

Shame on these tears! I thought the heart was frozen _60

Which is their fountain. I would pledge my soul

That she is guiltless.


Yet she must be tortured.


I would as soon have tortured mine own nephew

(If he now lived he would be just her age;

His hair, too, was her colour, and his eyes _65

Like hers in shape, but blue and not so deep)

As that most perfect image of God's love

That ever came sorrowing upon the earth.

She is as pure as speechless infancy!


Well, be her purity on your head, my Lord, _70

If you forbid the rack. His Holiness

Enjoined us to pursue this monstrous crime

By the severest forms of law; nay even

To stretch a point against the criminals.

The prisoners stand accused of parricide _75

Upon such evidence as justifies



What evidence? This man's?


Even so.


Come near. And who art thou thus chosen forth

Out of the multitude of living men

To kill the innocent?


I am Marzio, _80

Thy father's vassal.


Fix thine eyes on mine;

Answer to what I ask.


I prithee mark

His countenance: unlike bold calumny

Which sometimes dares not speak the thing it looks,

He dares not look the thing he speaks, but bends _85

His gaze on the blind earth.


What! wilt thou say

That I did murder my own father?



Spare me! My brain swims round...I cannot speak...

It was that horrid torture forced the truth.

Take me away! Let her not look on me! _90

I am a guilty miserable wretch;

I have said all I know; now, let me die!


My Lords, if by my nature I had been

So stern, as to have planned the crime alleged,

Which your suspicions dictate to this slave, _95

And the rack makes him utter, do you think

I should have left this two-edged instrument

Of my misdeed; this man, this bloody knife

With my own name engraven on the heft,

Lying unsheathed amid a world of foes, _100

For my own death? That with such horrible need

For deepest silence, I should have neglected

So trivial a precaution, as the making

His tomb the keeper of a secret written

On a thief's memory? What is his poor life? _105

What are a thousand lives? A parricide

Had trampled them like dust; and, see, he lives!


And thou...


Oh, spare me! Speak to me no more!

That stern yet piteous look, those solemn tones,

Wound worse than torture.


I have told it all; _110

For pity's sake lead me away to death.


Guards, lead him nearer the Lady Beatrice;

He shrinks from her regard like autumn's leaf

From the keen breath of the serenest north.


O thou who tremblest on the giddy verge _115

Of life and death, pause ere thou answerest me;

So mayst thou answer God with less dismay:

What evil have we done thee? I, alas!

Have lived but on this earth a few sad years,

And so my lot was ordered, that a father _120

First turned the moments of awakening life

To drops, each poisoning youth's sweet hope; and then

Stabbed with one blow my everlasting soul;

And my untainted fame; and even that peace

Which sleeps within the core of the heart's heart; _125

But the wound was not mortal; so my hate

Became the only worship I could lift

To our great father, who in pity and love,

Armed thee, as thou dost say, to cut him off;

And thus his wrong becomes my accusation; _130

And art thou the accuser? If thou hopest

Mercy in heaven, show justice upon earth:

Worse than a bloody hand is a hard heart.

If thou hast done murders, made thy life's path

Over the trampled laws of God and man, _135

Rush not before thy Judge, and say: 'My maker,

I have done this and more; for there was one

Who was most pure and innocent on earth;

And because she endured what never any

Guilty or innocent endured before: _140

Because her wrongs could not be told, not thought;

Because thy hand at length did rescue her;

I with my words killed her and all her kin.'

Think, I adjure you, what it is to slay

The reverence living in the minds of men _145

Towards our ancient house, and stainless fame!

Think what it is to strangle infant pity,

Cradled in the belief of guileless looks,

Till it become a crime to suffer. Think

What 'tis to blot with infamy and blood _150

All that which shows like innocence, and is,

Hear me, great God! I swear, most innocent,

So that the world lose all discrimination

Between the sly, fierce, wild regard of guilt,

And that which now compels thee to reply _155

To what I ask: Am I, or am I not

A parricide?


Thou art not!


What is this?


I here declare those whom I did accuse

Are innocent. 'Tis I alone am guilty.


Drag him away to torments; let them be _160

Subtle and long drawn out, to tear the folds

Of the heart's inmost cell. Unbind him not

Till he confess.


Torture me as ye will:

A keener pang has wrung a higher truth

From my last breath. She is most innocent! _165

Bloodhounds, not men, glut yourselves well with me;

I will not give you that fine piece of nature

To rend and ruin.


_164 pang edition 1821; pain editions 1819, 1839.



What say ye now, my Lords?


Let tortures strain the truth till it be white

As snow thrice sifted by the frozen wind. _170


Yet stained with blood.


Know you this paper, Lady?


Entrap me not with questions. Who stands here

As my accuser? Ha! wilt thou be he,

Who art my judge? Accuser, witness, judge,

What, all in one? Here is Orsino's name; _175

Where is Orsino? Let his eye meet mine.

What means this scrawl? Alas! ye know not what,

And therefore on the chance that it may be

Some evil, will ye kill us?



Marzio's dead.


What did he say?


Nothing. As soon as we _180

Had bound him on the wheel, he smiled on us,

As one who baffles a deep adversary;

And holding his breath, died.


There remains nothing

But to apply the question to those prisoners,

Who yet remain stubborn.


I overrule _185

Further proceedings, and in the behalf

Of these most innocent and noble persons

Will use my interest with the Holy Father.


Let the Pope's pleasure then be done. Meanwhile

Conduct these culprits each to separate cells; _190

And be the engines ready; for this night

If the Pope's resolution be as grave,

Pious, and just as once, I'll wring the truth

Out of those nerves and sinews, groan by groan.


SCENE 5.3:





How gently slumber rests upon her face,

Like the last thoughts of some day sweetly spent

Closing in night and dreams, and so prolonged.

After such torments as she bore last night,

How light and soft her breathing comes. Ay me! _5

Methinks that I shall never sleep again.

But I must shake the heavenly dew of rest

From this sweet folded flower, thus...wake, awake!

What, sister, canst thou sleep?


I was just dreaming

That we were all in Paradise. Thou knowest _10

This cell seems like a kind of Paradise

After our father's presence.


Dear, dear sister,

Would that thy dream were not a dream! O God!

How shall I tell?


What wouldst thou tell, sweet brother?


Look not so calm and happy, or even whilst _15

I stand considering what I have to say

My heart will break.


See now, thou mak'st me weep:

How very friendless thou wouldst be, dear child,

If I were dead. Say what thou hast to say.


They have confessed; they could endure no more _20

The tortures...


Ha! What was there to confess?

They must have told some weak and wicked lie

To flatter their tormentors. Have they said

That they were guilty? O white innocence,

That thou shouldst wear the mask of guilt to hide _25

Thine awful and serenest countenance

From those who know thee not!


Ignoble hearts!

For some brief spasms of pain, which are at least

As mortal as the limbs through which they pass,

Are centuries of high splendour laid in dust? _30

And that eternal honour which should live

Sunlike, above the reek of mortal fame,

Changed to a mockery and a byword? What!

Will you give up these bodies to be dragged

At horses' heels, so that our hair should sweep _35

The footsteps of the vain and senseless crowd,

Who, that they may make our calamity

Their worship and their spectacle, will leave

The churches and the theatres as void

As their own hearts? Shall the light multitude _40

Fling, at their choice, curses or faded pity,

Sad funeral flowers to deck a living corpse,

Upon us as we pass to pass away,

And leave...what memory of our having been?

Infamy, blood, terror, despair? O thou, _45

Who wert a mother to the parentless,

Kill not thy child! Let not her wrongs kill thee!

Brother, lie down with me upon the rack,

And let us each be silent as a corpse;

It soon will be as soft as any grave. _50

'Tis but the falsehood it can wring from fear

Makes the rack cruel.


They will tear the truth

Even from thee at last, those cruel pains:

For pity's sake say thou art guilty now.


Oh, speak the truth! Let us all quickly die; _55

And after death, God is our judge, not they;

He will have mercy on us.


If indeed

It can be true, say so, dear sister mine;

And then the Pope will surely pardon you,

And all be well.


Confess, or I will warp _60

Your limbs with such keen tortures...


Tortures! Turn

The rack henceforth into a spinning-wheel!

Torture your dog, that he may tell when last

He lapped the blood his master shed...not me!

My pangs are of the mind, and of the heart, _65

And of the soul; ay, of the inmost soul,

Which weeps within tears as of burning gall

To see, in this ill world where none are true,

My kindred false to their deserted selves.

And with considering all the wretched life _70

Which I have lived, and its now wretched end,

And the small justice shown by Heaven and Earth

To me or mine; and what a tyrant thou art,

And what slaves these; and what a world we make,

The oppressor and the oppressed...such pangs compel _75

My answer. What is it thou wouldst with me?


Art thou not guilty of thy father's death?


Or wilt thou rather tax high-judging God

That He permitted such an act as that

Which I have suffered, and which He beheld; _80

Made it unutterable, and took from it

All refuge, all revenge, all consequence,

But that which thou hast called my father's death?

Which is or is not what men call a crime,

Which either I have done, or have not done; _85

Say what ye will. I shall deny no more.

If ye desire it thus, thus let it be,

And so an end of all. Now do your will;

No other pains shall force another word.


She is convicted, but has not confessed. _90

Be it enough. Until their final sentence

Let none have converse with them. You, young Lord,

Linger not here!


Oh, tear him not away!


Guards! do your duty.


Oh! would ye divide

Body from soul?


That is the headsman's business. _95



Have I confessed? Is it all over now?

No hope! No refuge! O weak, wicked tongue

Which hast destroyed me, would that thou hadst been

Cut out and thrown to dogs first! To have killed

My father first, and then betrayed my sister; _100

Ay, thee! the one thing innocent and pure

In this black, guilty world, to that which I

So well deserve! My wife! my little ones!

Destitute, helpless, and I...Father! God!

Canst Thou forgive even the unforgiving, _105

When their full hearts break thus, thus!...



O my child!

To what a dreadful end are we all come!

Why did I yield? Why did I not sustain

Those torments? Oh, that I were all dissolved

Into these fast and unavailing tears, _110

Which flow and feel not!


What 'twas weak to do,

'Tis weaker to lament, once being done;

Take cheer! The God who knew my wrong, and made

Our speedy act the angel of His wrath,

Seems, and but seems, to have abandoned us. _115

Let us not think that we shall die for this.

Brother, sit near me; give me your firm hand,

You had a manly heart. Bear up! Bear up!

O dearest Lady, put your gentle head

Upon my lap, and try to sleep awhile: _120

Your eyes look pale, hollow, and overworn,

With heaviness of watching and slow grief.

Come, I will sing you some low, sleepy tune,

Not cheerful, nor yet sad; some dull old thing,

Some outworn and unused monotony, _125

Such as our country gossips sing and spin,

Till they almost forget they live: lie down!

So, that will do. Have I forgot the words?

Faith! They are sadder than I thought they were.


False friend, wilt thou smile or weep _130

When my life is laid asleep?

Little cares for a smile or a tear,

The clay-cold corpse upon the bier!

Farewell! Heighho!

What is this whispers low? _135

There is a snake in thy smile, my dear;

And bitter poison within thy tear.

Sweet sleep, were death like to thee,

Or if thou couldst mortal be,

I would close these eyes of pain; _140

When to wake? Never again.

O World! Farewell!

Listen to the passing bell!

It says, thou and I must part,

With a light and a heavy heart. _145


SCENE 5.4:




The Pope is stern; not to be moved or bent.

He looked as calm and keen as is the engine

Which tortures and which kills, exempt itself

From aught that it inflicts; a marble form,

A rite, a law, a custom: not a man. _5

He frowned, as if to frown had been the trick

Of his machinery, on the advocates

Presenting the defences, which he tore

And threw behind, muttering with hoarse, harsh voice:

'Which among ye defended their old father _10

Killed in his sleep?' Then to another: 'Thou

Dost this in virtue of thy place; 'tis well.'

He turned to me then, looking deprecation,

And said these three words, coldly: 'They must die.'


And yet you left him not?


I urged him still; _15

Pleading, as I could guess, the devilish wrong

Which prompted your unnatural parent's death.

And he replied: 'Paolo Santa Croce

Murdered his mother yester evening,

And he is fled. Parricide grows so rife _20

That soon, for some just cause no doubt, the young

Will strangle us all, dozing in our chairs.

Authority, and power, and hoary hair

Are grown crimes capital. You are my nephew,

You come to ask their pardon; stay a moment; _25

Here is their sentence; never see me more

Till, to the letter, it be all fulfilled.'


O God, not so! I did believe indeed

That all you said was but sad preparation

For happy news. Oh, there are words and looks _30

To bend the sternest purpose! Once I knew them,

Now I forget them at my dearest need.

What think you if I seek him out, and bathe

His feet and robe with hot and bitter tears?

Importune him with prayers, vexing his brain _35

With my perpetual cries, until in rage

He strike me with his pastoral cross, and trample

Upon my prostrate head, so that my blood

May stain the senseless dust on which he treads,

And remorse waken mercy? I will do it! _40

Oh, wait till I return!



Alas, poor boy!

A wreck-devoted seaman thus might pray

To the deaf sea.



I hardly dare to fear

That thou bring'st other news than a just pardon.


May God in heaven be less inexorable _45

To the Pope's prayers than he has been to mine.

Here is the sentence and the warrant.



My God! Can it be possible I have

To die so suddenly? So young to go

Under the obscure, cold, rotting, wormy ground! _50

To be nailed down into a narrow place;

To see no more sweet sunshine; hear no more

Blithe voice of living thing; muse not again

Upon familiar thoughts, sad, yet thus lost--

How fearful! to be nothing! Or to be... _55

What? Oh, where am I? Let me not go mad!

Sweet Heaven, forgive weak thoughts! If there should be

No God, no Heaven, no Earth in the void world;

The wide, gray, lampless, deep, unpeopled world!

If all things then should be...my father's spirit, _60

His eye, his voice, his touch surrounding me;

The atmosphere and breath of my dead life!

If sometimes, as a shape more like himself,

Even the form which tortured me on earth,

Masked in gray hairs and wrinkles, he should come _65

And wind me in his hellish arms, and fix

His eyes on mine, and drag me down, down, down!

For was he not alone omnipotent

On Earth, and ever present? Even though dead,

Does not his spirit live in all that breathe, _70

And work for me and mine still the same ruin,

Scorn, pain, despair? Who ever yet returned

To teach the laws of Death's untrodden realm?

Unjust perhaps as those which drive us now,

Oh, whither, whither?


Trust in God's sweet love, _75

The tender promises of Christ: ere night,

Think, we shall be in Paradise.


'Tis past!

Whatever comes, my heart shall sink no more.

And yet, I know not why, your words strike chill:

How tedious, false, and cold seem all things. I _80

Have met with much injustice in this world;

No difference has been made by God or man,

Or any power moulding my wretched lot,

'Twixt good or evil, as regarded me.

I am cut off from the only world I know, _85

From light, and life, and love, in youth's sweet prime.

You do well telling me to trust in God;

I hope I do trust in him. In whom else

Can any trust? And yet my heart is cold.





Know you not, Mother...Sister, know you not? _90

Bernardo even now is gone to implore

The Pope to grant our pardon.


Child, perhaps

It will be granted. We may all then live

To make these woes a tale for distant years:

Oh, what a thought! It gushes to my heart _95

Like the warm blood.


Yet both will soon be cold.

Oh, trample out that thought! Worse than despair,

Worse than the bitterness of death, is hope:

It is the only ill which can find place

Upon the giddy, sharp, and narrow hour _100

Tottering beneath us. Plead with the swift frost

That it should spare the eldest flower of spring:

Plead with awakening earthquake, o'er whose couch

Even now a city stands, strong, fair, and free;

Now stench and blackness yawn, like death. Oh, plead _105

With famine, or wind-walking Pestilence,

Blind lightning, or the deaf sea, not with man!

Cruel, cold, formal man; righteous in words,

In deeds a Cain. No, Mother, we must die:

Since such is the reward of innocent lives; _110

Such the alleviation of worst wrongs.

And whilst our murderers live, and hard, cold men,

Smiling and slow, walk through a world of tears

To death as to life's sleep; 'twere just the grave

Were some strange joy for us. Come, obscure Death, _115

And wind me in thine all-embracing arms!

Like a fond mother hide me in thy bosom,

And rock me to the sleep from which none wake.

Live ye, who live, subject to one another

As we were once, who now...


_105 yawn edition 1821; yawns editions 1819, 1839.



Oh, horrible! _120

That tears, that looks, that hope poured forth in prayer,

Even till the heart is vacant and despairs,

Should all be vain! The ministers of death

Are waiting round the doors. I thought I saw

Blood on the face of one...What if 'twere fancy? _125

Soon the heart's blood of all I love on earth

Will sprinkle him, and he will wipe it off

As if 'twere only rain. O life! O world!

Cover me! let me be no more! To see

That perfect mirror of pure innocence _130

Wherein I gazed, and grew happy and good,

Shivered to dust! To see thee, Beatrice,

Who made all lovely thou didst look upon...

Thee, light of life ... dead, dark! while I say, sister,

To hear I have no sister; and thou, Mother, _135

Whose love was as a bond to all our loves...

Dead! The sweet bond broken!


They come! Let me

Kiss those warm lips before their crimson leaves

Are blighted...white...cold. Say farewell, before

Death chokes that gentle voice! Oh, let me hear _140

You speak!


_136 was as a Rossetti cj.; was a editions 1819, 1821, 1839.


Farewell, my tender brother. Think

Of our sad fate with gentleness, as now:

And let mild, pitying thoughts lighten for thee

Thy sorrow's load. Err not in harsh despair,

But tears and patience. One thing more, my child: _145

For thine own sake be constant to the love

Thou bearest us; and to the faith that I,

Though wrapped in a strange cloud of crime and shame,

Lived ever holy and unstained. And though

Ill tongues shall wound me, and our common name _150

Be as a mark stamped on thine innocent brow

For men to point at as they pass, do thou

Forbear, and never think a thought unkind

Of those, who perhaps love thee in their graves.

So mayest thou die as I do; fear and pain _155

Being subdued. Farewell! Farewell! Farewell!


I cannot say, farewell!


Oh, Lady Beatrice!


Give yourself no unnecessary pain,

My dear Lord Cardinal. Here, Mother, tie

My girdle for me, and bind up this hair _160

In any simple knot; ay, that does well.

And yours I see is coming down. How often

Have we done this for one another; now

We shall not do it any more. My Lord,

We are quite ready. Well, 'tis very well. _165